Page 8 of Beach Cottage Kisses
But as he checked out, he saw the group in the restaurant, in a back corner. Very clearly missing any sign of amber hair.
And was bothered that she’d chosen to skip the breakfast. Seeing it as a sign that things weren’t right between them. That she was avoiding him.
Contradictory to the extreme, considering his own lack of attendance.
Realizing that his worrying over the nonissue of the kiss the night before could create a problem where there wasn’t one, Scott went home. Collected Morgan from the dog sitter a few cottages down, took the corgi for a long run. Then pulled on a wet suit and took his surfboard out for some January practice. Managed to stay on long enough for the wave to actually catch the board before torpedoing into the water. And called it a win.
You couldn’t fail at a skill you’d never learned.
And you couldn’t fail to learn if you were still in the process of learning.
He’d worked that one out years before. While his father was still alive and asking him why he continued to pursue a sport that clearly wasn’t suited to him.
As always, taking the board out renewed his confidence in his own inner strength, determination and endurance, and he was fully back to himself by the time he took Morgan out for her Sunday-afternoon socialization. Iris wouldn’t be out yet. She had a photo shoot.
But he and Morgan saw Angel. The miniature collie was still with the girls’ sitter from the night before and Morgan greeted the smaller dog as though they’d been apart for years.Laughing, Scott offered to keep Angel with him and Morgan until Iris got home. Something he and Iris had each done many times over the years.
The three of them, him and the girls, ran a couple of miles and then stopped to have a beer with Dale, who was out with Juice. The bearded writer was one of Morgan’s favorite people, and Scott’s, too, outside Sage, Leigh and Iris.
Dale had helped Gray start up a water rescue course for service dogs—classes that were on hiatus only long enough for Gray to family-moon. Gray used Juice to demonstrate many of the exercises.
Everyone on the beach knew that Juice was Dale’s very dedicated, personal service dog. As far as Scott was aware, no one knew why the athletic man needed one.
Scott had never asked. He didn’t like questions coming at him in return. So he didn’t pry.
Other than missing little Leigh, and Sage and Gray, too, the sunny, midsixties Sunday afternoon was nice. Bordering on great.
And, as Iris’s auburn hair showed up in the distance, her tall, lean body distinguishable among others out enjoying the day, Scott saw the day as being exactly what he wanted out of life.
She’d come home from work and headed to the beach. Just like always.
She wasn’t avoiding him.
Having finished his beer, he stood as Iris drew closer. “She doesn’t know I confiscated Angel,” he said as he clicked his fingers to the two dogs who’d been lying by Juice. Thanking Dale for the beer, he headed off toward the friend who, he’d just found out the night before, looked for him first on the beach every night,and who was always glad to see him.
He was even happier than usual to see her, too.
So she hadn’t made it to breakfast. Hadn’t been in touch all day. Neither had he been. That wasn’t their usual way.
Wasn’t his way with anyone except Sage. When situations called for it.
Angel saw Iris while the twenty-eight-year-old gifted photographer was still thirty yards away. Took off toward her. With Morgan right on her heels, of course.
Filled with relief, Scott continued at his own, casual pace. Reached Iris when she was still bending down, greeting the girls as though they’d been apart for weeks instead of just overnight, Scott let her voice wash over him. Appreciating the familiarity, aware of Iris’s value to him, more than ever before.
Because of the near loss of what they’d had.
And not at all to do with the memory of her lips responding to his.
When she stood, he fell into step beside her. Just as he did every other night that they were both at home in time to let the dogs run on the beach. Didn’t matter that Morgan and Angel had already had all the exercise they needed.
It was what they did. Walked. Talked.
Before heading home alone for dinner or whatever else the evening had to bring them separately.
“How’d the shoot go?” he asked when she failed to immediately fall into step. He was watching the dogs. Something they both did often. Checking himself to make certain that he didn’t do or say anything out of the ordinary.
“Fine.” One word. Where normally there’d have been paragraphs. Pages even.
